Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Last weekend we had a family visit with our grandchildren. Since it was a warm day, we sat outside in the shade. Grandson found a frozen gel icepack in the diaper bag, put there to keep the children's snacks cold. He pranced around with it, pressing it against everyone's bare arms. Ron got hold of it and, when Grandson's back was turned, he pulled back the elastic waistband of the little guy's shorts and tucked the icepack inside. Grandson jumped with surprise when the cold penetrated his underwear to his bottom. He wasn't sure whether he liked the sensation or not, and ran to his mum, begging her to "get it out!"

But he was soon back for more, and it became a game. Ron would put the icepack into the back of the boy's shorts and Grandson would leap and dance about, then Mum would remove it, and the cycle would begin again, much to the boy's delight. He came running to Grandpa saying, "Put ice on my bum!"

"How often would you hear anyone say that?" remarked Son, who was watching with amusement.

More often that you might think, was my silent reply. I didn't dare catch Ron's eye. This was, after all, a vanilla afternoon.